


Proof

by Olfactory_Ventriloquism



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 00:12:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1489579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olfactory_Ventriloquism/pseuds/Olfactory_Ventriloquism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Idiot's Lantern. The Doctor's fear for Rose's safety has become debilitating, and he won't look at her for fear that he never saved her from the Wire, that her return to him was a dream. Rose decides to prove she's herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fear

  
The Doctor was aware that Rose slept but fitfully that night. It was only to be expected; she’d had her face ripped off by the Wire just that afternoon. Still, it wasn’t logic that told the Doctor of Rose’s restless night. He knew with the certainty of a witness. Every gasp as she awoke, choking down a scream, echoed through the corridor. Every sob sounded like it came from right next to him.  
  
The TARDIS was mad at him, though she couldn’t be more angry than he was at himself. She was both comforting and punishing him. Ever fearful sound taunted him with what his own stupidity had so nearly cost him, but still it was a relief to know with every heartbreaking utterance that he hadn’t quite lost it yet. He should have, by rights. He’d abandoned her, swanned off and left her vulnerable.  
  
That first night, the Doctor resolutely remained embedded in the bowels of the console room, fiddling and repairing. The next night he spent in the library, pouring over ancient texts, ignoring the slight blurring of his vision. Absently, he would dash fallen tears from the page he was studying, pretending he wasn’t affected. The third night he spent in his room, unable to sleep. The fourth night, he paced the corridor, denying his own knowledge that each location was closer to her room than the night before. The fifth night, he stood outside her door.  
  
It was like a campfire horror story. Every night brought him a step closer to her. Truth be told, he was terrified of what he’d find. Would she have finally broken? If there was some sort of damage that hadn’t become apparent yet, would she be the empty husk he’d always feared he’d create?  
  
And still, no matter where he haunted, Rose’s soft calls of distress were with him. It was all he could hear. Most of the time, not even the TARDIS could get through to him anymore, so she continued the only thing he registered: the nightly sounds of Rose’s nightmares. He could almost feel her breath against the nape of his neck. The sixth night, he stood awkwardly just inside the door of her room, looking anywhere but at the bed upon which she rested. When Rose began to wake, he ran.  
  
He couldn’t do this.  
  
*  
  
Rose couldn’t do this.  
  
She rose on the sixth morning since her encounter with the Wire in an even more atrocious mood than the preceding few days. Each day, she’d been quick to realize, was worse. This time, she thought she heard the sound of his shoes against the floor fading quickly into the distance.   
  
Great, she thought bitterly, now he’s added running from me to his list of new tricks.  
  
The first morning she’d been shaken, uncertain, and in need of one of the Doctor’s cure-all embraces. A kind word of a proud grin wouldn’t have go amiss either. She’d not gotten any of them.  
  
He wouldn’t meet her gaze. He wouldn’t even look her in the face. Once the initial shock and hurt from this faded enough for her to think almost clearly, panic set in. Rose had run into the bathroom, terrified of finding he face still gone. She cried when her reflection stared back at her, relieved it was there, hurt and confused by the Doctor’s actions.  
  
And then she was angry. She stormed into the consol room and stood, glaring up into his face, as close as she could get to him, daring him to look away. He kept his eyes closed and let her words wash over him. She asked, pleaded, yelled, threatened, begged, and, finally, slapped him. He didn’t react, didn’t say a word, didn’t move a muscle.  
  
Rose had fled then, sobbing bitterly. In the wardrobe room, she had curled up in a patchwork jacked that smelled of him and cried until she fell into an exhausted, dehydrated, and numb sleep.  
  
On the second day, he wouldn’t look any closer to her face than her feet. The third day, he wouldn’t even look at them. The next day, he wouldn’t leave the consol room, his appearance was disheveled and his eyes were sunken. He was retreating into himself, blocking out the pain and blocking out her. Yesterday, he mostly kept his back resolutely to her. And, through all this, neither of them had taken a step out of the TARDIS. They hadn’t left the Vortex.  
  
Under typical circumstances, Rose enjoyed the downtime. She would read or swim or sunbathe in the garden. There was a cookbook that she was determined to work her way through, one dish at a time and make the Doctor sample the results. He would tease her if her found her enjoying the luxury of an afternoon nap, join in her activities, and happily accept the morsels she fed to him.   
  
Yes, under typical circumstances, Rose enjoyed the downtime, but then, under typical circumstances, Rose had him.  
  
Without him Rose couldn’t do this, and she had only time in which to dwell on what had happened, on what was happening, on what she was determined wouldn’t happen any longer.  
  
*  
  
The Doctor was sitting in the jump seat. He hadn’t eaten or showered or changed clothes in days. It had been about three times as long as it should have been since his last sleep cycle. When the Doctor had seen what the Wire had done to his precious Rose, only the driving need to save her had kept his brain from completely shutting down. After he’d gotten her back, elation had held his collapse at bay, but the first sign of damage done to her psyche had brought rushing back the reality of what he’d allowed to befall her.  
  
After that first, devastated Dalek, the Doctor had sworn he’d never let it occur that his carelessness endangered Rose. And, since then, he’d never been able to so exclusively blame any harm she’d suffered on himself. This time, he knew, it was all on him. He’d willingly driven away from her.  
  
When he realized this, the Doctor was wracked with indecision. He should take her home. She’d be safe there. But that would mean he’d have to leave her, and look how well that had gone. He should keep her firmly by his side. That way, he could always protect her. But he was a magnet for chaos, destruction and danger. That wasn’t a safe place for her, either.  
  
Fear slowly overtook the Doctor’s brain, paralyzing it one neuron at a time. First, he couldn’t look at her face, for fear it would be gone again. Then, his radius of panic spread as he indulged it.  
  
While his need for the comfort of her presence increased, so did his inability to accept it. He had very nearly convinced himself that he had failed in releasing her from the Wire.  
  
After escaping her room that morning as she awoke, terrified of hearing the hollow thumping of her cane on the TARDIS floor…  
  
No.  
  
That was the grandmother’s cane.  
  
Wasn’t it?  
  
After fleeing her room, no longer fully cognizant of what, precisely, he feared, the Doctor had retreated into the consol room. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to leave it yet. He didn’t know why he would want to.  
  
The Doctor sat there, too wrapped up in his own fears to realize that he was shaking. He was too absorbed with terror to register Rose’s entrance, or hear her speak to him, feel her reassuring caress against his cheek, or recognize her ask the TARDIS for help.  
  
The TARDIS gripped the Doctor’s mind in her immensely powerful, unrelentingly gentle embrace, and he didn’t even notice that. The TARDIS keened for the meltdown her Time Lord was suffering, and applied a soft pressure to his brain. In a moment, he was unconscious.  
  
When the darkness fell on him, he couldn’t be sure there’d ever been light.  
  
*  
  
The Doctor awoke 9.73 hours later, with a fuzzy, uncertain grasp on the events of the past few days. Someone had placed a block on most of those memories, and an inspection quickly revealed the tell-tale signs of TARDIS interference. He sent a question out to her but only received a wordless reassurance.  
  
The sleep had reverted some of the Doctor’s analytical ability to him. He realized that there was a high concentration of a hormone he secreted when deathly afraid. Slowly, it was being filtered from his system. For whatever reason, he hadn’t blocked its passage through the blood-brain barrier as was his normal first response to its release.  
  
The chemical, which the Doctor had taken to thinking of as the fear-monger hormone some regenerations ago, was able to increase the speed of a Time Lord’s ability to process information. The only catch was that the increase of sensory input and information could, quite frequently, increase the fear, which caused the production of more of itself to be stimulated in a cascade effect. Soon, the Time Lord was drowning in the stuff, unable to think because of the fear.  
  
If the problem could be solved quickly, the chemical was often times a life saver, but, if not, then it would make what was often the last few hours of life very unhappy, indeed.  
  
The Doctor couldn’t remember why he’d failed to block the production of this chaotic little hormone, but he suspected that it had led to some sort of breakdown, if the residual levels and the evidence of the TARDIS’s intervention was anything to go by. Fortunately, in his sleep, enough of it had been metabolized to return him to rationality.  
  
All of this was determined within moments of returning to consciousness. The Doctor opened his eyes. He blinked. He took a deep breath to stave off frustration. He wasn’t particularly worried, so he very politely asked the TARDIS why he was blindfolded.  
  
Then, he felt a soft, warm and wonderfully familiar hand settle itself into his, and the Doctor screamed.  
  
*  
  
Rose jumped in alarm when her touch caused the Doctor to yell out and convulse, curling protectively in on himself. Still, she kept her hand in his, wincing at the strength with which he gripped it.  
  
“What’s happening to him?” she shouted, trying not to panic. The TARDIS managed to indicate that her touch had broken the seal placed on his memories by the ship. The two women had intended for them to be released fairly soon, and the TARDIS just hadn’t realized how much the simple touch would effect the Doctor. It was rare for the TARDIS to communicate with Rose is such full sentences, and she knew that whatever was bothering the Doctor was also hurting his ship. She thanked the TARDIS aloud and focused on the man that was holding onto her hand as though his survival depended on it.  
  
“Rose?” he asked hollowly, having reigned in his terror somehow.  
  
“I’m here, Doctor,” she told him, bringing her other hand up so that she held both of his.  
  
“You were gone,” he said unnecessarily. Rose noticed that his tears were soaking into the blindfold. “It stole your face,” he whined and then added softly, “your beautiful face.” Rose blushed, but pushed the small thrill those words gave her to the back of her mind.  
  
“But you saved me, Doctor. I’m here, and I’m safe because of you,” she reassured him.  
  
“You could’ve died,” he protested. “Could’ve died and it’d be all my fault.” Rose shook her head, realized he couldn’t see it, and spoke.  
  
“No, Doctor. I didn’t come with you. I confronted someone I knew was very likely dangerous without any kind of back up, without even telling you where I was going.” Rose was beginning to get angry. “You don’t get to take credit for my actions, Doctor. And you don’t get to make my decisions for me.” She glared affectionately down at him. “I’m alive and whole despite what that thing did to me because of you. Because you saved me.” Rose extricated a hand to gently caress his face. The Doctor flinched at first, then leaned hungrily into the touch.  
  
“How do I know that? How do I know this isn’t all imagined?” he muttered darkly. Rose resisted the urge to hit him.  
  
“Well, ultimately, I’ll show you,” she told him, squeezing his hand comfortingly when he tried to bury his face in his chest. She could imagine his squeezed-tight eyes. “But for now, I’ll just prove it to you. Those people…well, and me…when their…our faces were gone, they couldn’t do anything, right? Couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t see, couldn’t-“  
  
“I know!” the Doctor barked. “I saw that, too, you know? Saw you like that.” Rose tenderly brushed an errant lock of hair from his forehead.  
  
“Well, I’m going to prove to you that I can do all of those. Prove that I’m me, all of me, again. When you’re ready, you can look, but I’ll never force you.” Rose’s voice was soft and calming; the Doctor nodded warily. Rose beamed down at him even though he could see.  
  
“Thank you.,” she whispered, squeezing his hands. Then, with a hand in each of his, Rose pulled the Doctor into sitting and then standing.  
  
“Right!” she said briskly. “First order of business. Proof that I, Rose Tyler, have retained the ability to eat.  
  
*  
  
The Doctor allowed himself to be led into the kitchen. His right hand was in Rose’s right hand, and her left snaked around his waist in order to better steer him in his blinded state and help keep him steady. He didn’t need this assistance. 900 years in this ship, after all, and he knew it better than the back of his own hand. But he hadn’t let her touch him for days, and the Doctor craved this contact with a hunger that far surpassed his need for food, despite how neglected his body had gone in the days following Rose’s…incident.  
  
So, he gripped her hand and leant into her side, and if Rose attributed it to the blindfold she’d put on him, he wasn’t sure it was wise to disillusion her. He maintained his grip on her hand even after she’d carefully lowered him into his usual chair. It sounded like she was turning away from him, so he grasped her hand tighter, refusing to let her leave. His rational brain told him that she was probably going to get some food, but he didn’t care. The fear-monger chemical was no longer affecting him, but that couldn’t make everything better like a flip of a switch.  
  
Rose’s soft hand smoothed over his tense fingers, across the back of his palm and up his arm to wear his shirt sleeves had been rolled to his elbows. Then it jumped up to caress his cheek.  
  
“It’s okay, Doctor. I’m just getting some forks, year? Not going anywhere,” she said. The Doctor shook her head, petulantly. He imagined that Rose glanced at the meal she’d laid out. He felt her try to reach for the drawer where the cutlery was housed. When he felt her strain away from him, instinct kicked in. The Doctor wrapped a hand around her waist and hauled her into his lap. Rose squeaked in surprise. He could feel her heart beat rapidly against his crest. Both of his arms enveloped her in a tight embrace and he buried his face in the crook of her neck.  
  
Squirming against him, Rose half-heartedly struggled to be released. The Doctor didn’t relent in his hold on her. A word sprang, unbidden, to his lips.   
  
“Mine,” he growled against her skin. Almost instantly, Rose relaxed against him He felt her nod.  
  
“Yes, Doctor. I’m yours, your Rose,” she whispered. The Doctor froze. Aloud, she said, “Look, I’m not fighting. Can we please eat now?” The Doctor nodded numbly. Rose started to get up, instantly his arms were pinning her to him.  
  
“No. Here,” he told her.  
  
Rose was silent for a moment. And then she sagged back, comfortable against him. “Fine. But if you get all messy, it’s your own fault,” she warned him and then reached for something on the table.   
  
When her gentle, warm fingers pressed a small morsel of toast to his lips, smothered with ham, the Doctor allowed her to feed him. He then chased her fingers with his lips and thoroughly removed the sticky sweetness that had gotten on them. He felt Rose’s breathing and heart-rate increase and realized what he had just done.  
  
Crap. He’d crossed a line. He’d crossed several of his lines in the brief time he’d been awake. A brief systems scan of himself almost caused him to curse aloud.  
  
“Doctor?” He could hear the concern in Rose’s voice as she twisted around on his lap. The Doctor barely bit back a groan at the feel of her bum rubbing against him.  
  
“Sorry,” he said quickly. “Thinking of something else, which is, of course, abominably rude of me. I do apologize. Anyway, back to breakfast.”  
  
He could feel Rose staring at him, and knew he was beginning to blush. Finally, she decided not to push the issue and settled back against him. Again, the Doctor’s jaw tensed against the feral sound that battled to get out.  
  
 _Oh, Rose,_ he thought desperately. _I hope you meant it._

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Preferences


	2. Relearning

Rose Tyler didn’t have a clue as to what the Doctor was up to. She did know, however, that if this was a joke, she’d kill him.  
  
As if forcing her to sit on his lap, painfully aware in each nerve ending of every millimeter where they touched wasn’t enough.   
  
Since he wasn’t allowing her to get cutlery, Rose was feeding him by hand. After the first little square of toast, he’d shocked Rose by licking her fingers clean. The second morsel she offered him, a slice of strawberry, was treated the same.   
  
In some ways, that surprised her even more than the first time, as it showed that the Doctor intended to continue this unprompted behavior. Certain that allowing this temptation would be stupid, and half-convinced that he wasn’t aware of what he was doing, Rose make a point upon offering him a third bite of keeping her fingers clean. Still, the Doctor’s lips fastened around her forefinger and suckled gently. Rose bit down on her lower lip.  
  
When, on feeding him for the fourth time, Rose tried to pull her hand away before he could capture her fingers, the Doctor’s hand grasped her wrist, causing Rose to gasp in surprise. She watched, mutely, as the Doctor pulled her hand back to his mouth. This time, he first swiped his tongue over her palm, before trailing teasingly up her fingers. Rose was half-turned to watch this, wishing she could yank off the blindfold and read his motives in his eyes. Then, he grabbed her other hand, the one that had done nothing but sit, fisted against her thigh since she’d given up trying to escape his lap. Her fist relaxed under his tender, inquiring touch, and again Rose watched her fingers disappear between the Doctor’s lips. Though this hand had no traces of the meal laid out before them, the Doctor suckled as hungrily as if her skin had been bathed in the nectar of the gods.  
  
Rose’s eyes slipped shut, and for a moment rational thought returned. She pulled her hands back from him, trying not to do so in a way that would make him feel rejected. After a moment of pouting, the Doctor grinned in a way that made Rose uneasy.  
  
“I do believe you’re cheating, Rose Tyler,” he said with a warm, amused drawl. “The purpose of this exercise is to prove you still have a face, yes? Not to, like always, take care of me, even if I have been rather lax in that area over the past few days.” Before Rose could even think to say anything, the Doctor’s fingers were on her lips, stilling them.   
  
“I’m thankful for your care, Rose,” he told her with heartbreaking sincerity. “I always am. But…I haven’t been here for you as I should have been. You…you must have needed someone to talk to, a hug, even a shoulder, but I couldn’t see that. Well, now I can’t see anything.” He smiled wryly. “And that’s probably best for now. But, I want to be all that I wasn’t but should have been. Please, let me take care of you, for a bit.”  
  
Rose didn’t move, didn’t speak, and if she breathed it was not because of any conscious thought. His long, nimble fingers offered a piece of fruit to her, pressing it lightly against her lips, running it delicately from side to side. Rose shivered and hoped he couldn’t feel it, opening her mouth to accept the fruit. The digits that popped the fruit (pineapple) into her mouth lingered long enough for Rose to know that she was allowed (no, invited) to treat is fingers in the same way he’d treated hers. Only through a great effort of will did Rose resist.   
  
She saw the Doctor pout, but she did not give in. He repeated the action with a grape, and again his fingers lingered. Again, she refused to give into temptation. On this second refusal, the Doctor tensed beneath her. His face lost all of its playfulness, and Rose realized that whatever door had been opened, it was very quickly being shut because of her actions. A third bite of food was offered tentatively, and the Doctor pulled his hand away as soon as she accepted the fruit.  
  
This time, it was Rose’s turn to grab his wrist and pull his fingers back to her mouth. This time, it was Rose who licked and sucked and nibbled and teased. And this time, it was the Doctor who stifled a gasp and struggled to control his breathing.  
  
Rose was painfully cognizant, as she drank in the sight of how she was affecting him, of the fact that when the Doctor went back to normal, and Rose lost this unexpected intimacy, this moment would fuel her dreams and her fantasies.  
  
*  
  
Success! Rose was not only accepting his advances, she was reciprocating them. And what a sweet success it was, her hot tongue swirling around his fingers, actively driving him mad. The Doctor wanted to shout his thanks to the gods of every planet, nation, clan, and creed.  
  
Despite knowing that he should be reigning in all of this, quelling it, finding a way to stop this process, the Doctor really didn’t want to. He knew he was acting like a petulant child, but, dammit, for once he wanted to be selfish. Besides, Rose wasn’t fighting it. And he knew that unless Rose told him now, he would never be able to defy his need for her. Not now that he’d began on this path.  
  
The Doctor wanted to curse at how his choice had been stolen from him. He had thought about this since he met her. And he had wanted to make her his since he’d first noticed how special she was. He’d been too stupid and afraid to act, but he’d always thought it almost inevitable. After all, he had no intention of ever letting her go. He would do absolutely everything in his power to keep her by his side. And, if her actions and words were anything to go by, (and what else could anyone be judged upon but those) Rose didn’t intend to leave.  
  
Still, even though he’d frequently dreamed of what his body was readily preparing for, he’d wanted to have a choice in the where and the when. He’d wanted to set it up to be special, to be perfect, for his Rose. He’d wanted this on their terms. Now he was forced to take the situation at hand and do whatever he could to make it as good as possible for her.   
  
He’d had months of seduction planned that he would have to cram into, at maximum, 48 hours. In addition, he was handicapped as he couldn’t bring himself to look at her face, and he didn’t exactly have his usual stamina. He was malnourished, dehydrated, and sleep deprived. He wasn’t sure when or if he would be at the top of his game.  
  
So yes, the Doctor wanted to curse at how his choices and plans had been arbitrarily removed from this equation, but then Rose’s tongue would swipe over the pad of his finger, and he was ready to dance.   
  
The Doctor continued to feed Rose until she turned her head no matter how persistent or tempting the offer, protesting she was stuffed and couldn’t eat another bite.  
  
“I’ve proven I can eat, haven’t I?” she pleaded, leaning her head back against his shoulder. The smell of her shampoo and soap and skin engulfed the Doctor. He swallowed hard and nodded. He could picture the smile she gave him as she cuddled into him.  
  
“Good. Now, you eat while I sit here and digest,” she told him. There was a contented weariness in her voice, and the Doctor remembered that she hadn’t slept well for nearly a week, now. He wrapped his arm snuggly about her waist and fed himself the same way he’d fed Rose, allowing the TARDIS to guide his fingers to choice morsels.  
  
When the Doctor finished eating, Rose sighed softly and moved to leave his lap, only to be restrained. At this, she protested.  
  
“Doctor, I have to get up, let me go,” she insisted.  
  
“Don’t wanna,” he mumbled, barely coherent around his giant pout.  
  
“Doctor, I have to clean up, or the dishes will be impossible to wash.”  
  
“No you don’t,” he said. “The TARDIS can take care of it.”  
  
“She can wash dishes?” Rose asked with obvious skepticism.  
  
“You accept that she keeps milk fresh indefinitely, but don’t think she can do dishes?”  
  
“Wait, you’re serious? I’ve lived here all this time and no one ever said!” Rose was close to yelling, and the Doctor realized that he may have blundered. Again.  
  
“Well, the TARDIS thought it was sweet how you took care of her, and I thought it would be good to let her feel pampered,” the Doctor said slightly sheepishly. There was a pause, and the Doctor waited as patiently as possible, knowing that Rose was considering the pros and cons of killing him. His only movement was to rub soothing circles into her abdomen, tethering her to him with this almost subconscious action. Evidently Rose decided that it wasn’t the time for an argument.  
  
“You know, I would have continued to clean up after myself anyway, just to make her happy, if you’d told me,” Rose muttered. The Doctor felt a rush of affection for this kind, wonderful woman. The TARDIS chimed in with a grateful, loving hum. “But, if you won’t let me up, and she is willing,” The TARDIS chimed an affirmative. “I suppose I’ll leave the washing up to her. After all, I’ve got another task to prove I have a face. This time, let’s prove I have eyes, shall I?”  
  
The Doctor smiled at this idea, and allowed himself to be led down the hall.  
  
*  
  
Rose led the Doctor in much the same way she had before: his hand in hers, her free arm around his waist. This time, though, there was a decidedly different mood in the air. Rose's arm had snaked under the Doctor's jacket, and the Doctor's thumb was rubbing circles on the back of her palm that were simultaneously soothing and arousing.  
  
There was a tense, nervous, excited undercurrent to the Doctor that set Rose's blood tingling. She wanted to push him against the wall and snog him senseless. She wanted to demand to know what had gotten into him. She wanted him to turn back to normal before she did something that couldn't be taken back. She wanted this to never end, a permanent change. But only if this was the first step of the change. If she had to endure this wonderful, frustrating...seduction., then she would finally be driven completely insane.  
  
"Now, Doctor," Rose said as they entered the Library, "We’re going to prove that I can see." The Doctor turned his face to her, an eyebrow raised. Rose had the feeling that if he hadn't been blindfolded, his eyes would be sparkling with amusement.  
  
“So you’ve said. But you haven’t said how," he murmured, his voice low.   
  
“I’ll read to you,” Rose said simply, struggling for equilibrium.   
  
“How do I know you’re reading to me and not reciting something you’ve memorized?” he asked. Rose wasn’t offended. She and the Doctor trusted each other every day with their lives. And both of them would do anything for the other. And that anything included convincing each other they were fine, protecting each other from unfortunate truths. He’d gotten to the point where he couldn’t feed or bathe himself, so it was only natural for him to wonder if she weren’t just trying to make him take care of himself. And she would have, if that’d been the only option. No, Rose wasn’t offended. She squeezed his hand.  
  
“We’ll let the TARDIS decide,” she said after a moment’s deliberation. Rose drew him a few steps further into the room and ran his right hand across the smooth, bare surface of the table. “Nothing there,” she said. Rose held both of the Doctor’s hands tightly in hers and didn’t let go. She looked up at the ceiling of her beloved home. “Would you please choose a book for me to read?”  
  
There was a hum of acceptance, and Rose led the Doctor’s hand back across the table. His questing fingers discovered the slim volume that lay there. He picked up the book and traced the raised letters of the title.  
  
The Doctor chuckled. “Song of Solomon?” he asked the TARDIS aloud. If she responded, Rose couldn’t hear, but a second book appeared on the table unannounced. The Doctor seemed to be unaware of it, and didn’t act like he noticed when she grabbed in and tucked it under her arm.  
  
“C’mon, then,” Rose said, dragging the Doctor to a couch. It was a large, overstuffed affair that was more than big enough to sleep on. Rose hesitated before sitting next to the Doctor, wondering how close she dared to sit. She didn’t know where the new boundaries were. She didn’t know how to deal with this, honestly, but she was determined to work through it. She knew he would want her to be close, but how close? This book, Song of Solomon, was supposed to be, well, intimate, wasn’t it? How much physical closeness would be appropriate?  
  
Steeling herself for who knows what, Rose perched herself next to him, closer than she’d have sat before, but still providing them each some room. Despite preparing herself to be surprised, Rose still let out a squeal when, quick as a flash, the Doctor wrapped himself around her, tucking her in like a secure, living blanket. It was as though they were spooning while sitting up. The Doctor’s legs were on the outside of the couch; Rose snuggled into his side and the back of the couch. His arm was around her shoulder, and her head was pillowed by his chest.  
  
This time, Rose knew better than to protest. So, she snatched the book from his hand and propped it open on his thigh. With a blush already staining her cheeks, Rose licked her lips. “This is the song of songs which is Solomon’s.”  
  
*  
  
The Doctor could have kissed the TARDIS in gratitude. He’d been dying to kiss Rose, had been since he met her, but even more now. It was his beloved ship though that had managed to turn even the innocuous act of reading towards his purpose.   
  
He was aware only of Rose: her warm, supple body relaxing against his side, her voice rising and falling to the cadence set down by the wise Solomon, the sweet, floral smell of her shampoo danced in his nose, reminding him of his own unwashed situation, the taste of her fingers still lingering on his lips. The rest of his senses, tuned as they were to the twining flow of time, were focused either on this present bliss or had silenced themselves.  
  
It was an old poem that the TARDIS had chosen. Certain cultural differences detracted from its message, but there were passages coming, he knew that couldn’t be tarnished. And, judging from the occasional stumble, Rose understood the more salacious metaphors.  
  
It wasn’t unusual for Rose to read during her downtime. Nor was it uncommon for her to prepare a meal of some kind, usually from that cookbook of hers. But he recalled one of her other pastimes, a particular favorite of his. One which he could so easily provide for her, even blindfolded.  
  
“My beloved spoke,” Rose read aloud, “and said unto me-”  
  
“Rise up my love, my fair one, and come away,” the Doctor recited. Rose inhaled sharply, and he could almost feel her stare. He stood, and extended a hand towards her. Within a moment, Rose’s hand was in his, and he pulled her up, just a bit too hard so that she stumbled into his arms.   
  
“Taking care of you means more than a light meal,” the Doctor murmured. He could feel her breath on his lips. “Bring the book. We’ll continue this somewhere a bit more comfortable.”  
  
Rose walked behind him after only a single question of “How?”  
  
“The TARDIS won’t let me fall. Besides, after a few centuries, you become pretty familiar with the layout of your home.”  
  
He didn’t know if Rose was paying attention to where he was leading her, but it was a route she’d been down a few times. The garden had a flat path that led through the areas, and the Doctor followed it with unerring accuracy. When a smell resembling cotton candy scented the air, he carefully stepped off the path. He felt Rose come up beside him. A plant very much like moss, only thicker and drier covered the ground here. The light perfectly mimicked the warmth of the sun, but the TARDIS would never let them burn.  
  
The Doctor slid an arm around Rose’s waist and briefly nuzzled her hair. He felt her shiver and smiled to know she couldn’t be cold.  
  
“I know what you’re doing,” he whispered against her ear. “You’re making things normal. Doing what we’ve always done.” Rose’s hair tickled his lips as she nodded, he was so close to her. “You know my favorite of out little rituals?” Another tickle. This time, she shook her head, no. “My favorite part is when you sunbathe. I watch you, sometimes, when you’re not paying attention, when you think that I’m working, that I don’t care if you’re practically presenting yourself on a silver platter. When I can’t stay away any longer.” Rose had stopped breathing at some point during his confession, but she started again with his next words. “You’re always so beautiful, so perfect, my Rose. Like a goddess here to provide sustenance to her followers. Favor me now, your most devoted worshipper.”  
  
He could almost hear her lick her lips and swallow nervously.  
  
“You…wouldn’t be able to see me,” she pointed out in a whisper.  
  
“I could feel you. I’ve wanted to for so long. To run my fingers up your arms and down your sides, across the smooth expanse of your stomach.” The Doctor trailed off, certain that the hitch in her breath could only mean that his words had done the trick.  
  
“I don’t have a swimsuit,” Rose pointed out. The Doctor knew that her hand was toying with the hem of her shirt. He almost laughed but settled for a broad grin. He pointed to the nearest tree, where a low limb had a bikini draped carefully over it. It was his favorite of her swimsuits. A rich brown that only enhanced her golden essence until she looked like a statue built of by the love goddesses working together had crafted one perfect being.  
  
“Okay,” Rose said with almost no hesitation in her voice. “Stay here while I go change.”  
  
“Need any help?” the Doctor asked cheekily and received a swatted arm for his troubles. He heard her step away, could almost picture her approach the tree by her sounds. She fingered the cloth that waited for her briefly before snatching it up and…going behind the tree? Really? Perversely, the Doctor found her absurd modesty in the face of his blinded state adorable rather than foolish.  
  
Not quite soon enough, Rose was back beside him.  
  
“Now what?” she asked, clearly handing him the reigns.  
  
The Doctor let his hands find the curve of her waist. He traced them down over the swell of her hips, playing for a moment with the ties of her bikini bottom. Lowering himself to his knees, he turned his face upwards as though to gaze on her beauty like a humble supplicant. His fingers trailed down her legs and he pressed a gentle kiss to each of her knees.  
  
“Lie down,” the Doctor commanded barely over a whisper. Rose scrambled to obey.  
  
The Doctor situated himself in a way to provide maximum frustration to both of them. His clothes whispered across her skin, and he could just feel her warmth, but nowhere did they touch. He just barely caught the groan that Rose bit back. A smug look suffused his face.  
  
“I believe you were reading,” the Doctor reminded her. There was a pause before Rose scurried into action, retrieving the book and flipping to her spot.   
  
“ Arise my love, my fair one, and come away,” she began again.  
  
The sun warmed him. The moss-like plant was soft as if several blankets had been put down. Rose’s presence comforted him.  
  
He hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep recently, he knew. The unconsciousness the TARDIS had put him into hadn’t been as restful as true sleep, and his body was, even now, falling over itself in a rush to facilitate this change it knew was coming. All in all, he was exhausted.  
  
As Rose’s voice soothed him, the Doctor fell asleep.  
  
*  
  
A light snore pulled Rose’s attention from the book, and her words trailed off to that void where stray thoughts make their home.  
  
The Doctor had slipped into the first natural sleep he’d had in over a week. Careful not to rouse him, Rose let her fingers run through his hair. The hunger for touch seemed to resonate in him, even when he slept as he snuggled in closer to her at this prompting.   
  
It must have been his proximity that reminded Rose of the second book the TARDIS had provided. She started to pull away from the Doctor, but he whimpered and moved closer. Afraid of waking him, Rose lay still for a moment. When he had calmed, she tried again. Again he began to become upset. Almost desperate, Rose laid a gentle, lingering kiss to his forehead.  
  
“It’s okay, Doctor,” she whispered. “Still here.” His face quieted, and his grip relaxed. She looked back at the page she’d been concentrating on recently and started to read to him again in a murmur. As he faded back into properly restful sleep, Rose slowly moved away, still reading, letting him know she was still near.  
  
She’d left her clothes and the book at the tree. It was no more than ten paces away, so she was able to get to it and back within a minute. Lying back down next to him, Rose allowed herself to be pulled into his embrace, though she was careful not to let the book be trapped.  
  
For the first time since it had arrived on the table, Rose was able to examine the volume. It was thicker than Song of Solomon with a somber brown cover. The only thing about it that could possible attract attention was the title, and the title held Rose, captivated.   
  
“Gallifreyan Mating.” She wouldn’t say it aloud, was afraid to even think it too hard, for ear he would awaken, but Rose felt rather as if she’d been given the Holy Grail. She wondered how long it would take her to finish it. How long before he realized she had it, what he would do when he found out. If she started this but had it taken away before she’s learned anything of import, Rose thought she might die.  
  
Well, she couldn’t read it if she didn’t open it. The first page was a table of contents, and Rose was surprised to see a chapter highlighted. Was this what the TARDIS wanted her to see? Is this what had caught the Doctor’s attention? Either way, it certainly caught hers.  
  
“Bonding with Non-Gallifreyan Life Forms. Page 172”  
  
Practically frantic, Rose flipped through the pages. This book she read with a fervor, but silently.  
  
“As was theorized last chapter, should a Time Lord or Lady go through a great enough trauma, the blocks put in place by the Loom could be broken and the sex drive initiated. If the Time Lord in question should be already bound, this will prove no difficulty. However, should the Time Lord be unbound, the body will pick the most suitable mate both physically and mentally, for a Time Lord will be unable to mate with one that is viewed as unequal.  
  
“If, in a very unlikely turn of events, the sex drive is initiated in an unbound Time Lord who has been severed from contact with other Time Lords, the body will still endeavor to find a suitable companion: one that can be deemed ‘the best’.”   
  
Rose stopped reading for a second to stare in shock at the Doctor’s prone form. He’d called her that, once, when he was disposing of Adam. Had he read this then? Known what it meant? Wanted her to know? She forced these questions from her mind and her eyes back to the page. Reflection could come after she’d finished reading this.  
  
“Depending on the reticence of the Time Lord, and how deeply ingrained are the moral strictures against fraternizing with other species, the affected Time Lord may try to repress all urges. Should, however, the Time Lord be not dispositioned to resist, or should something occur to change his or her mind, bonding will occur.  
  
“As with all bonds that are initiated after the sex drive has been activated, it will begin with a claim, often verbal, of possession or ownership. If this is accepted unequivocally, the mating chemicals will be released, the body will prepare for bonding, and there is very little chance of the Time Lord stopping him or her self from completing at least the physical act of mating”  
  
Rose continued reading even as her body relived the moment of the Doctor growling the word “mine” into her neck and her whispered response. No wonder he couldn’t keep his hands to himself.  
  
“However, such a bond will be temporary and dissolve relatively easily.” The book continued. Rose felt a pang.   
  
“In order for the bond to be permanently inflicted on both parties, the claim must not only be accepted, but then reciprocated. Should the claimed life form accept and then vocalize a similar claim on the Time Lord, and should that claim also be accepted, then the chemical that acts as a Temporal Resonance Augmentor will be released. In a bond between two Time Lords, this hormone will, of course, cause the bonded pair to be tuned to each other despite whatever changes may be caused by regeneration.  
  
“In a bond with a non-Gallifreyan life form, this will still cause the Time Lord to be in tune with its mate’s needs, but it will also affect the mate, once introduced to their body during the physical mating. The mate will be given many of the healing capabilities of the Time Lord.  
  
“Since this has never occurred, any other side effects are only speculative, but it has been hypothesized that any species that does not have telepathic abilities may be changed enough for them to communicate with their mate or possibly anyone. It has even been theorized that if the being has had contact with the Time Vortex, then a life span comparable to a Gallifreyan life span could be granted.”  
  
Rose put down the book. She’d learned everything she needed to know right now. What it boiled down to, when put it terms that weren’t dictated by a scientist who wanted everything to be in its own little box, was this: the Doctor loved her. For whatever reason, he thought she was “the best” and that she was his equal. He’d held back for so long, and she’d probably never understand why, but he wasn’t holding back any longer. Couldn’t any longer. Likely, he’d been so scared by the recent event with the Wire, that he was acting on instinct, and instinct told him to claim her.   
  
Rose wanted this permanent bond. She wanted all of him. And, right now, it would be so easy to take him.  
  
Rose Tyler examined the sleeping man in front of her. She was tempted to remove the blindfold, but she had promised she wouldn’t force him. Maybe she should let him sleep. He’d no slept properly in far too long, and this book seemed to indicate his body was going through changes since she’d accepted the claim. But how long did she have to make her own claim? Had she already lost her chance?  
  
There really was only one way to find out. Well, two, but she didn’t know how long it would take her to find the answer in that book, and Rose had waited long enough. Still, just because she was going to wake him up, didn’t mean she had to be mean about it. She could have a bit of fun. Rose leaned in and breathed the scent of the Doctor. He could use a shower, but there was something real, something reassuring about his muskiness.  
  
Rose gave into a temptation she’d had for ages. She began to nibble his Adam’s apple. The Doctor moaned. Uncertain if he was awake yet, Rose trailed her way slowly up to his ear, enjoying every whimper and gasp.  
  
“Mine,” she whispered before sucking on his earlobe.  
  
“Yours,” he muttered, and then gasped, stiffening beneath her. He must be awake now, she figured. “Rose.” His voice wasn’t quite as thrilled as she might have hoped. “Do you know what you’ve done?” He actually sounded a bit panicked. Probably figured she’d freak when she learned that she’d just bonded them permanently. Well, wouldn’t it be interesting to see his reaction when he learned she’d done it on purpose.  
  
“I know, Doctor. The TARDIS gave me a book. And I want you. I want all of you. I want as close to forever as I can get. Is that okay?”  
  
“Oh, Rose. My Rose.”  
  
“Yours. Your Rose. My Doctor.”  
  
“Your Doctor.”  
  
The Doctor held her head still with a gentle yet firm hand at her neck. How he managed to so seamlessly find her lips with his, she’d never know. And, as long as he continued to kiss her like that, she’d never care.

 

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	3. Proof

“Rose,” the Doctor gasped for breath when he pulled away several minutes later.  _The things this man could do to her!_  The way he worshipped her mouth even as he devoured it. Rose already felt hazy with lust, but she wasn’t so far gone that she didn’t recognize her Doctor’s tone.  
  
“Oh, no,” she told him sternly. “No backing out. Besides, that book made it very clear that you don’t get a choice in this matter anymore. You don’t get to say no.” She ran her fingers along the bulge in the front of his pants. “As if I would let you, anyway.”  
  
His hips bucked into her touch and a sound very much like a growl leapt from his throat even as he lunged at her, rolling her onto her back, his weight pinning her, his hips grinding against hers. Rose moaned.  
  
“Not saying no,” he rasped in her ear. “I never would, and, no, I don’t think I can at this point. However, I get a bit of a say in when. I had so many plans for this,” he said. “I was going to make you beg.” Another pinch. This time, Rose didn’t hold back the whimper. A downright filthy grin lit his face. “Still am, ‘smatter of fact.” Rose rolled her hips up into his. His gasp made her grin to have a bit of power returned to her.  
  
“You started this out making me take care of myself,” the Doctor continued when he got control back over his breath. “You made me eat, made me relax, made me rest,” he paused. “And then you did this. You really have sent my blood pressure on a ride.” Rose couldn’t find it in her to be chastened, when she felt the final destination straining against her. “There is one part of my plans that I won’t let go. One part that fits in nicely with your scheme. Our first time,” Rose tried to not get too excited by the promise in the word ‘first.’ “I want to at least have had a shower in the last twenty-four hours.”  
  
Rose almost screamed. Hell, she almost hit him. He expected her to wait?! God, but he was dense, sometimes.  
  
And then inspiration struck, and Rose grinned up at him mischievously. After all, she had to concede the point.  
  
“Need any help?” she asked wickedly, parroting his own words back at him. A slow smile spread across the Doctor’s face.  
  
“Now that you mention it, yeah. I think I do,” he told her in a voice that made her shiver deliciously. “Wouldn’t want to slip.”  
  
The TARDIS seemed to hum even more than usual as they made their way down the hall, arm in arm. Each of them stole a caress or snog whenever the opportunity presented itself. This was how she’d dreamed of being with him: open, unreserved. Almost carefree. A step away from perfect.  
  
Rose felt that all she needed for this moment to be flawless would be to see his eyes. They hadn’t yet said they loved each other, not out loud. Some small part of her was aware of that. But all of her, even that small voice, knew that they had expressed it just the same. Time for words would come later. This was a time for actions.  
  
Having grown up on the Estates, Rose had only rarely been able to bring herself to use the shower room that she knew the Doctor preferred. It seemed cavernous compared to the cramped facilities she’d had at her mum’s. Water came from several nozzles, and even could pour straight down the tile walls so that they were never cold. While perfect for getting rid of swamp mud, alien mucus, or any other type of goop the Doctor managed to get her covered in Rose found it a bit too big for everyday use. It always felt empty, lonely even.  
  
As she surveyed it now, Rose realized that it was the perfect size for two. Particularly if they were to engage in some more acrobatic activities. Rose wasn’t surprised to find her body wash, shampoo, and conditioner already waiting next to his. The TARDIS, it seemed, expected this to become a regular occurrence.  
  
She closed the door behind herself and leaned on it, the wood of the door was chilly against her practically bare back. Even if he were blindfolded, Rose was both thrilled and nervous to be wearing only a bikini before him, now that she knew he was paying attention. So she stood for a moment, waiting for his lead, even as she drank in the sight of his flushed cheeks, parted lips, and straining erection still caged behind his trouser-zip. The Doctor shrugged out of his jacket and reached up to undo the knot of his tie. Rose stepped away from the door and placed her hand over his.  
  
“Let me?” she murmured, not quite sure if she were asking or ordering. The Doctor nodded and lowered his hands.  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
  
Rose started impatiently on his waistcoat. When its buttons were undone, Rose let it hang open for a moment, grabbing his tie and pulling him down roughly for a snog. The Doctor tried to follow her when she ended the kiss, which caused to grin and, merciful as she was, place another swift kiss on his lips.  
  
“Do you have any idea how many uses your tie can have?” she purred darkly. The Doctor swallowed audibly. Rose fingered his blindfold lightly, careful not to shift it. “It’s not just a sexy accessory. It’s thick enough to block almost all light.”   
  
She trailed her fingers down his shirtsleeves, as close as she’d ever been to his bare skin, and circled his wrists. “Silk is strong enough to bind. Even you?” Her lips were brushing his ear, and she smiled to see him shudder. He was practically panting. Rose had never seen the Doctor this close to coming undone. She wanted to see how often she could make this happen. She trailed the tip of his tie across his lips. He swallowed, hard.   
  
“It can even be used to stop an overactive gob. I hope I won’t have to use it on you.” There was dark promise in her voice, and Rose smirked to see him tremble.  
  
He hadn’t said a word. Rose was impressed by his control, and found herself growing damp at the thought of the uses it could be put to. And even wetter at the thought of making him lose that control.  
  
She pulled the tie slowly from his neck. Silk against cotton was the only sound. His waistcoat was the next to go. She then started with the buttons of his cuffs. Bringing the hands up, one at a time, for easy access, Rose let her fingers work at the fastenings, while she kissed and licked and sucked the fingers that were right in front of her. Letting each hand fall in turn, Rose then tugged the shirt from where it was tucked into the Doctor’s trousers. He gasped at this sudden friction so close to where he longed for Rose’s touch.  
  
Feeling contrary, Rose began with the buttons at the bottom of the shirt and worked steadily away from where the Doctor wanted her. A small chip in the Doctor’s control appeared in the form of a small growl.  
  
When the shirt was divested of, Rose hooked her fingers through his belt loops and dragged him forward so that his erection pressed against her the same way her breasts were flattened against him.   
  
His tongue plundered her mouth dragging a whimper from her lips. She felt herself melt against him, so tempted to relinquish her position of power as his hands mapped her bare back, finding and undoing the ties that held up her bikini top. He threw the fabric away from them, and his hands make their way to her breasts. He weighed them, and brushed his thumbs over her nipples. When she was moaning, and he could feel how erect and tight her nipples were, he trailed his mouth down the column of her throat, and his questing lips found their way to her breasts. With a pleased moan, he encased a nipple in his mouth that was slightly warmer than the room, but cooler than she had ever experienced before.  
  
Eyes closed, head thrown back, Rose fumbled with his belt buckle. As soon as it opened, she attacked the button beneath. Her fingers brushed his erection as she worked. The Doctor groaned and the vibration seemed to shoot through her nipple, straight to her clit. Her fingers spasmed against him, and he bucked his hips towards her, giving her just the leverage she needed to slip the button free. The zipper came undone easily. And, leaving the Doctor in only black boxer-briefs, Rose shoved the trousers and belt over the Doctor’s slender hips to pool at his feet.  
  
His feet that were still clad in socks and Converse.  
  
“Bugger.” Rose muttered.  
  
*  
  
The Doctor could tell that all teasing had left Rose as she assaulted the laces of his trainers. She had them off much faster than he could have done in his blinded state, and his socks were removed with nothing more than a brief caress of the sole of his foot, a quick and passing attempt to tickle him.  
  
Now barefoot, the Doctor stepped out of the pool of clothes that surrounded him, pulling his pants off as he did. He sighed in relief as his erection was released from its prison, standing erect, begging for Rose’s attention.  
  
Attention that she didn’t hesitate to lavish. Before his underwear hit the ground, Rose’s hot hand was encircling the base of his penis and lazily stroking up his length.  
  
It felt like his brain was about to short-circuit. It felt like a heaven he’d never believed in before. It felt like a lazy fire followed after Rose’s touch, but, like Moses’ fiery shrub, it never burned him. Instead, it stoked him to new heights of arousal. Is this what it’s like for humans every time? No wonder they did it so frequently. No wonder they went to such lengths to get this. Every great achievement that mankind had ever made suddenly made sense. He would do anything, absolutely anything for Rose to let him feel like this again.  
  
Every inch of him yearned for her touch. His hearts wanted to crawl inside her and never leave. The Doctor captured Rose’s lips in a bruising, demanding kiss. His tongue plundered her mouth. He wanted to make her feel like she made him feel. He wanted to make her moan, make her beg, make her scream. Judging from the way she was leaning against him for support, the Doctor was well on his way to doing just that.  
  
One arm wrapped around Rose’s waist, his other hand undoing the ties that held the skimpy bikini bottom clinging to her hips, the Doctor pushed Rose backwards into the shower. The last scrap of clothing between them was tossed over the Doctor’s shoulder as warm water began to cascade over them.  
  
The sluice reminded them both of the reason they were here. The Doctor felt Rose reach away from him, and he let her. A small plastic pop released a scent that almost tingled in his nose. How he loved his clever ship. T’rrvillik soap. It washed away all dirt and grime. Rid the skin of anything malodorous. But its main attraction was how it matched its scent to the pheromones being created by its user. The Doctor had often thought that the best perfume is just Rose. And now he would get it. Pure Rose. Pure, aroused Rose would soon be floating in the air.  
  
The touch of a lathered cloth on his back brought the Doctor’s thoughts back from the fantasies playing in his mind. He let her take charge. She ran trails of lather across his back, down his arms and across his stomach. The soft touch of the cloth brushing across his nipples caused him to gasp and grind against her. One of her hands snaked back and squeezed his buttocks.  
  
“Rose,” he groaned. He wasn’t sure if it were a demand, or a plea, or a prayer. But he did know that she was his only tether to reality, now as always. He felt her skin slide against his as she lowered herself to kneel before him. She washed his feet, his shins and calves, his thighs. The water which fell from all directions quickly rinsed the suds and the grime and the fear away. Soap covered fingers replaced the cloth as Rose gently washed his genitals, careful to explore it all. From the inquisitive touch, the Doctor imagined that Rose was cataloguing his every reaction. He could almost see her grin when a swipe over his head caused his cock to jump in her grasp. The Doctor expected Rose to stand back up when she was done with washing him. He couldn’t see the wicked glint that appeared in her eyes as she considered the offering twitching for her attention inches from her face. Nor could he see the smug look that suffused her countenance when he groaned so loudly it was almost a yell as she slowly engulfed the head of his cock in her mouth. Her tongue swirled around him, and the Doctor thought for sure that he would come apart. That every atom in his being would stop spinning if she did much more of that.  
  
“Rose,” he said again. This time he was sure it was a plea, though he didn’t know what for. He thought she might know. Whatever it was that he needed, the Doctor knew that only Rose could give it to him. One of her hands began to pump his shaft as her mouth continued its ministrations.  
  
She was going to kill him. He’d danced before, but never as part of a bonding. He’d never known pleasure this intense. He wasn’t sure his body could take it.  
  
Rose’s second hand came up to play with his balls, and his imminent death became that much closer. When she started sucking, the Doctor’s knees buckled. His nervous system had to be breaking down as it sporadically sent random bursts of pleasure down his spine, throughout his body. He couldn’t take this much longer. He felt her lips slide further down his shaft. All thought stopped.  
  
All he could do is feel. Her tongue lapped along his length, and then she took him as deep as she could, relaxing her throat. She began to suck again, and then she did something he never could have predicted. She swallowed.  
  
“Ro…sto…puh…” Could talk for the planet, but any superiority he’d had or thought he’d had fled. That was the closest he could manage to a warning, but she ignored him and did it again.  
  
With a shout of her name, the Doctor came, His semen shot from him with such force that he briefly entertained the terrifying notion of choking her. Rose swallowed it with the ease of someone who had done this before, and, no, that was not jealousy. Much.  
  
He realized she was standing again when Rose whispered in his ear.  
  
“I suppose I should get myself cleaned up.” The Doctor grabbed the back of her head just hard enough to reassert control, and drowned himself in the mouth. To taste himself on her lips was the single most erotic experience of his life and he felt himself begin to get hard again.  
  
“I think I like you better dirty,” he told her, and felt her shiver at his words despite the warmth of the water spilling down them.  
  
“Doctor.” Rose whispered.  
  
“Well, if you insist,” he murmured, reaching for the alcove that the TARDIS held the bottle of T’rrvillik soap in. The Doctor found the washcloth draped over the bottle, because the TARDIS knew a blind Time Lord groping in the shower was only begging for a concussion. He ran the cloth over her arms, learning the feel of every hair against the fingertips that followed. He let his hands skitter over her rib cage, tantalizingly close to her breasts. Rose made a noise of frustration in the back of her throat. The Doctor chuckled.  
  
“Patience,” he chided her as he washed her stomach, down over the swell of her hips. He was surprised by his control. He hadn’t touched any where he was longing to explore. He, too, knelt in front of her to begin at her feet and work up her legs. When he reached the apex of her thighs, he stopped and stood.  
  
“Bastard,” she muttered.  
  
The Doctor chuckled wickedly, pulling her flush against him so she could feel his renewed erection. “Now, now, Rose Tyler. That’s not very nice at all. And here I was thinking of doing this.” He rasped the cloth over her nipple and put a gentle finger over it to feel it pucker and strain towards him. He let the cloth run over the rest of the breast, smirking at Rose’s moan, and waited until the suds were rinsed off to pull the desperate nipple into his mouth. Almost instantly, Rose’s hands came up to gently hold his head in place. He rasped the cloth over the ignored breast.   
  
“God,” she murmured, fingers spasming against his scalp.  
  
The Doctor released her. “That’s much nicer.” he told her with a triumphant grin before returning to his work. Sighs and whispers spurred the Doctor on. He ran the soapy cloth over her buttocks, squeezing and kneading it.  
  
“Doctor.” Rose whispered. He gave her rear a light slap. Rose gasped.   
  
“All clean,” he told her in a chipper voice. Rose growled.  
  
“Actually, Doctor, I think you might have missed a spot,” she told him. The Doctor could hear her patience beginning to snap.  
  
“Did I?” he asked, feeling puckish. “I don’t think so, Rose.” He pretended to think, and absentmindedly played with Rose’s nipples. She whimpered, and he could feel her shift as she rubbed her thighs together to try to provide some stimulation where she needed it most. When that wasn’t enough, Rose grabbed the Doctor’s hips and ground her own against his. The Doctor would never admit to the sound that came from him then, but Rose always said it sounded something like “guh.” Unable to remember why he’d been teasing her, the Doctor gave in.  
  
“You’re right, Rose. I think I did miss a spot.”  
  
*  
  
Rose moaned when the Doctor finally began to explore her folds. She already knew that she was hot and wet in a way that had nothing to do with the water pouring down on her. The Doctor’s fingers toyed with her slit, playing with the mousey curls he found there. Then, using just the rounded point of the tip of his finger, he parted her slit, running it from the top to where her thighs met and barred his progress. The touch was so light that it didn’t reach where she wanted it. With a whimper, Rose spread her legs, leaning back against the wall. The water that trickled down the tile flowed around her in rivulets.   
  
Looking pleased to be granted greater access, the Doctor let one finger dip inside. His groan when he discovered physical evidence of just how much she wanted this, made Rose feel sexy in a way no one had managed before. He let this one, felicitous digit explore her folds briefly. It circled her opening before he drew it into his mouth. Rose watched his cheeks hollow as he suckled her juices off his finger. She remembered entirely too well how it had felt just a few hours ago to have her own fingers given such treatment.  
  
Bending her knees just enough for her to angle her pelvis away from the wall, Rose let her body beg for her. It was a motion that should have been futile against the Doctor’s blindness, but he was so close, breathing in the smell of her, learning the taste of her, that she was able to brush her curls over the hand that currently occupied his mouth. Possessing a brain roughly the size of a proto-star, it didn’t take long for the Doctor to glean exactly what had happened from this small sensation.  
  
Before this moment, Rose hadn’t known that it was possible to leer with your eyes covered. He slowly pulled his finger from his mouth, much like a child reluctant to relinquish a piece of candy. He had to know she was watching, that every moment brought her that much closer to breaking.  
  
The Doctor leaned forward. Rose could feel his breath on wet, wanting flesh. His nose briefly nuzzled her hair, and Rose whimpered when his tongue began to lap at her. It didn’t take long for him to find her clit, standing tall and proud, aching for his touch. He swiped over it twice with a flattened tongue before nipping it lightly.  
  
Rose’s knees buckled. The Doctor put both hands at her waist to steady her, not stopping his actions.  
  
He probed her opening with his tongue, burying it as deep inside her as he could. It was so much. Dear God, it was too much, but it wasn’t enough. Rose was being held together by only the most tenuous of threads, but she was held together.  
  
She clamped down her muscles on his tongue, trying to pull him further inside. The increased friction was good, so good, but not in the right place. She needed him just a bit north of where he was drowning in her flavor.  
  
“Doctor,” she pleaded. Taking pity on her, the Doctor took one of his hands away from her waist and plunged two fingers into her, his mouth moving back to her clit. She nearly fell over, but the hand that was still at her waist moved so that his whole forearm braced her like a lap bar on a roller coaster.   
  
And what a ride. This was everything she’d never had. The Doctor prodded her clit with the tip of his tongue. His fingers thrust into her, a small twist when they were deepest. Rose didn’t care if she were moaning like a tart; she didn’t care if she were screaming his name. The Doctor had her against a wall and was filling her with his fingers while his mouth worshipped her clit.   
  
Then, the Doctor wrapped his sinful lips around her engorged nub and sucked. Rose was quite certain she screamed, though she doubted it was anything coherent, as every strand that had been holding her together snapped in unison, and she shattered beneath his onslaught.  
  
*  
  
The Doctor felt Rose come undone beneath him. What she screamed may have been a single syllable word that began with an L and ended with the sound of a V, and it was a balm to his hearts in a way he hadn’t expected. Instead of dreading that word, he found he craved her saying it again.   
  
Her walls quivered around his fingers, and her hips bucked into him. He could imagine her head thrown back in abandon. Or would she be staring down, drinking in the sight of his head beneath her thighs?  
  
Dammit all, the Doctor wanted to know. He wanted to see her when she came around him. This game had gone on for long enough. For only a moment, the Doctor forgot why he’d been blindfolded, but a moment was all it took for him to pull the cloth off over his head. By the time he remembered that he was terrified, he already knew he had nothing to fear.  
  
Rose was staring down at him in shock. He’d given no indication that he was ready to see her, and she hadn’t wanted to push it. She hadn’t fully recovered from the orgasm, he knew, because his fingers were still in her and he could feel her last tremors. And now, he was looking into her warm, chocolate eyes.  
  
“Rassilon, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, unbidden. The only thought he could muster at the moment. It must have been too much. The Doctor was standing, cradling her face in his hands in an instant kissing away the tears that he could distinguish from the shower water only by scent. He gathered her against him, and she clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her from falling. Or maybe he was the reason she fell. “Don’t cry,” the Doctor begged. “Oh, please don’t cry, you precious thing.” He planted a kiss on the crown of her head. “I love you. I don’t want you to be sad.” A small sob escaped from the marvelous human in his embrace and the Doctor wondered just how he’d manage to bollocks it all up.  
  
Rose looked up at him, and he knew it was with trepidation that he returned the gaze. Then her hands were in his hair, her lips, teeth, tongue were against his, and maybe it hadn’t all gone quite to pot.  
  
“I love you, too, you idiot,” Rose told the Doctor affectionately when they broke apart, equally breathless. “And I was afraid I’d never see you again.” When the Doctor continued to look puzzled, Rose sought to explain. “Maybe…I was afraid more that you’d never see me again,” she tried. The Doctor felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. His hearts squeezed at the thought.  
  
“Oh, Rose. Oh, I’m sorry. This one was really hard on you, wasn’t it?” he asked gently.  
  
“Not any harder than it was for you.” she insisted, squeezing him tight, giving the lie to her nonchalance. He drank in her face for a moment, before allowing himself his first perusal of her body. His cock twitched in anticipation. Rose smirked. “Not any harder than you are, now,” she rejoined.  
  
“Please tell me you did not just say that,” the Doctor asked even as he felt himself harden a bit further under attention.   
  
“Why? You seemed to like it.”  
  
“I like everything you do,” the Doctor told her darkly, “but that doesn’t mean you should sound like a…corny romance novel.”  
  
Rose ran her hand lightly along his shaft, up his stomach and looped it around his neck. He watched her pupils dilate ever so slightly as she held his gaze. “Maybe you should shut me up, then,” she whispered in his ear.  
  
The Doctor’s mouth crashed down on hers, and he reached out blindly, although no longer blind, for the knob. The water cut off. Rose was pulled out of the shower and draped in a towel that almost immediately was lost again without him breaking the kiss.  
  
This shower room had two doors. One led into the hall next to Rose’s room, and the other directly into the Doctor’s room. They practically fell through the latter.  
  
The fact that Rose didn’t hesitate, that she took his hand and led him with her to his bed, filled the Doctor with warmth he didn’t quite understand. Rose sat herself in the center of the bed. When the Doctor just stared at the vision before him a bit too long, Rose looked him in the eye and pronounced his salvation.  
  
“Make love to me.”  
  
“Rose, I-”  
  
“Shut up, Doctor. For once, just…do what I say.”  
  
In an instant, the Doctor’s weight was pressing into her. “Do you intend to always be this bossy once we’re bound?” he whispered in her ear.  
  
“I won’t boss you any more that you boss me,” she told him directly. “That being said, if sweet-talk won’t work…” Rose gave the shell of his hear a lick and growled. “Fuck me already.” He couldn’t believe she’d just said that. Words of filth dripping from the lips of a goddess. He couldn’t believe how aroused that made him.   
  
From her smirk, the Doctor deduced that she was satisfied that her words had had the desired effect when one of his knees forced its way between hers. Rose eagerly parted her legs beneath him. His head was quickly positioned at her entrance.   
  
And then he paused. Rose let out a noise alarmingly similar to a keen. “Please,” she whimpered. “Doctor, please.” She arched her hips up to his and then moaned deep in her throat when he thrust into her. As soon as he was sheathed, he stilled. This was perfection. This was where he belonged: enveloped by her, bonded to her. He felt her muscles stretch and relax around him, waiting for her to adjust, trying to catch his breath.  
  
The Doctor’s head had fallen to rest on her shoulder as he reestablished control, but Rose wouldn’t allow it. Rose wanted to see him break inside her. Wanted to watch his eyes as he surrendered. She told him as much. With a nip to his collarbone, Rose began to rock beneath him.  
  
With a gasp and a whine, the Doctor withdrew from her and slammed back into her wet embrace.  
  
She whimpered beneath him and clutched at his shoulders, her nails digging in. The Doctor felt a sort of masculine pride when she cried out with his next thrust. Her feet hooked around his bum, letting him in deeper.  
  
It was all too much. Her muscles clenched around him. Her breath on his neck, her voice in his ear pleading with him for more, harder, faster, _there._  
  
The Doctor had always known that sex with Rose Tyler would go beyond any fling, any experiment he may have had. He’d just never been able to realize how much further this could go. How much more it could be.  
  
He wanted to watch her come, see her quiver beneath him. He wanted to make up for every nuance of every expression that he had missed over the past few days.  
  
Snaking a hand down between them, the Doctor pressed against her clit, watching her eyes fly open in surprise.  
  
“Come for me, my Rose. Let me watch you.”  
  
“Doctor.” Seemed all she could get out.  
  
For whatever reason, it seemed the right time to say it again. “I love you,” he told her and then groaned as she came around him, every muscle clamped down on him, trying to hold him in, hold him close. He wasn’t sure how he managed to keep his eyes open, but he had had enough of being blind.  
  
Rose pulled him down for a kiss as he finally snapped in her arms. The Doctor collapsed on her as her muscles milked the last of his fluids from him. He briefly worried about making it hard for her to breathe, but Rose tightened her grip on him, and he was content to bask in her grasp.  
  
“I love you, too,” she told him, nuzzling the crown of his head.  
  
When the Doctor felt he could move again, he rolled onto his side, pulling Rose with him.  
  
“So that was bonding, yeah?” Rose asked.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“You’re stuck with me now,” she said with a grin.  
  
“I think, Rose Tyler, you’ll find that it’s you who are stuck with me,” he replied, returning her smile.  
  
“Good.”   
  
“Y’know, we need to talk. There’s no telling what this could have done to you.”  
  
“Means I get you, so it’s all good, yeah?” she assured him. At his mixed expression of adoration and concern, Rose ran a hand along his cheek. “Tell you what, you let me sleep now, and you can run whatever tests you want when I wake up.”  
  
“Deal,” the Doctor said a little too quickly.  
  
“No waking me up in half an hour, mind,” Rose cautioned.  
  
“Are you sure? I can think of some very pleasant ways to wake you up.”  
  
Rose laughed and gave him a small shove. “I’m sure you can. Sleep first.”  
  
A yawn took the Doctor by surprise and he nodded.  
  
“Rose Tyler, I do believe you wore me out,” he mock admonished her. Rose just beamed unabashedly.  
  
“I better have.” A pause. “Will it be like this every time?” she asked.  
  
No one could blame her for giggling her agreement when the Doctor replied eagerly, “Oh, I hope so.”  
  
  


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